[tracilicious]

She caressed the empty shell with her index finger. She wondered if the shell mourned the loss of the crab in the same way that a fallow field grieves the crop that's ripped away from it. In the same way her uterus felt the echoing drop of a two week old cluster of cells that some might consider a baby. That nine and a half months from now would have emerged as another soul to occupy an unknown vacancy on earth.

Surely by now her uterus was as hard as a shell anyways. This was her fifth loss. She consoled her self with the reminder that at least this one had been early. At least she hadn't been through baby registries and name books. At least she had known there was a good chance. At least she had only allowed a small glimmer of dense love into her heart.

She saw them sometimes. Her lost children. A boy, sandy blond hair, perpetual dirt under his nails, rugged skin and broad shoulders. Another boy, smaller and darker, always intense, spectacular wondering eyes. A girl next, they had considered stopping at two, but she really wanted a girl. Just one more, she pleaded with her husband, and he gazed at the baby pictures on the wall and relented. Her daughter was frilly and tempestuous and loved to do ballet. The next was a surprise. Another boy of course, which she was so grateful for. Her relationship with her daughter was too special to be repeated. This boy was mellow and friendly and had a smile that won over even the surliest of strangers.

She thought of this would-be baby. What would it be? She saw a baby in bed next to her, serenely drifting to sleep at her breast. Gently flexing and releasing five matchstick size fingers as though they were figuring out their purpose. Her hand skimmed over the full head of strawberry blond curls. This baby was so beautiful. Her hand ran down his cherub cheeks, his fat arms, his round belly, and all the rolls of his thighs. She emitted a long sigh. A sound that only mothers staring at their new babies can make. She smelled his forehead and felt the rush of hormones that only mothers can feel.

She looked away from the baby and back at her own still flat stomach. They wouldn't try again. Five losses in five years and thousands of dollars in tests and procedures. She thought of her cavernous, shell shaped uterus and longed for the millionth time for it to be filled with love. That's ok, she thought, I wouldn't know what to do without the familiar company of this particular pain. Surely one never feels love as stingingly as they feel loss.